


Sir Gawain and the Three Sisters

by lnhammer



Category: Sir Gawain and the Green Knight
Genre: Erotic Poetry, F/M, Yuletide, alliterative verse, divine intervention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 22:02:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lnhammer/pseuds/lnhammer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lady Bertilak was not the first temptation Sir Gawain met on his quest for the Green Chapel -- nor the deadliest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sir Gawain and the Three Sisters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [irisbleufic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/gifts).



With the possible exception of the publication announcement of new book of Chaucer's blog posts, no event in 2009 has created as much furor in medieval studies as the discovery among the miscellaneous papers of the Cotton library of three folio sheets containing eight and a half stanzas of alliterative verse relating an episode of a tale of Gawain. The first stanza is a variant of stanza 10 of part II of the received text of _Sir Gawain and the Green Knight_ and final lines are the beginning of stanza 11, but the rest is otherwise unattested. These sheets have been carbon-dated to (within the margin of error) the same time as Cotton Nero A.x, but are written by a different hand.

Whether the text was composed by the Gawain-poet or another person, whether the writer was the composer or a second scribe, and whether it is an elaboration upon the existing _Gawain_ text or a canceled portion of a preliminary draft, are all hotly contested issues in the best tradition of scholarly debate as a spectator sport -- and as such may not be settled for some time. We give below, for the first time, a translation of the text for the benefit of modern English readers who want to know what the fuss is about.

For an account of the manuscript's discovery and transcripts of the original text, see Hardwick (2009) and Hardwick &amp; Bowen (2009). For summary of the issues surrounding its canonicity, see Hardwick &amp; Bowen (2009), Bowen (2010), Flywheel, Shyster, &amp; Flywheel (2009a, 2009b, 2009c), and several other papers in press.

* * *

A hundred cliffs he climbed in foreign countries,  
Far removed from friends, riding as a stranger;  
At every hill or river where the hero passed  
He found -- strange to say! -- some foe before him,  
And a foe so foul and so fell he was forced to fight.  
He met so many marvels in those mountains,  
A tenth would be too tedious to tell.  
Sometimes he takes on dragons, sometimes wolves,  
Sometimes wood-satyrs dwelling in the rugged rocks;  
At times he battles bulls and bears and boars  
And giants puffing and snorting down from the hilltops;  
Had he not been sturdy and doughty, or served his God,  
He'd doubtless have died or been murdered there many times over;  
For if warring worried him little, the winter was worse,  
When the cold, clear water showered from the clouds  
And froze before it could fall to the faded earth;  
Nearly slain by sleet, he slept in his irons  
Many more nights than he needed in the naked rocks  
Where the cold stream fell down crashing from the mountain's crest  
And hung, high over his head, in hard icicles.  
Thus in peril and pain and terrible plights  
The knight roams all through the region till Christmas Eve --  
                        alone.  
        Earnestly that knight  
        He lifted up a moan  
        To the Virgin, that she guide  
        His way, reveal some home.

As soon as he spoke his prayer for safety,  
On the path where he fared he found a fork:  
Ahead the way didn't wind but was one that,  
As best he could see through the shining sun,   
Ran straight up the rising mountains  
Which narrowed as it neared the thick forest  
That darkened the shoulder slopes of the snowy peaks;  
While to his side, a smooth road swerved down into  
A valley that seemed by winding ways less shadowed.   
Gawain gave thought, then turned Gringolet aside,  
Heading down the easier path to the dell  
Where it seemed to him would be shelter to share.  
Soon indeed he saw signs of settlement:  
A field cleared for winter awaiting spring plowing,  
Bare pasture being picked over by patient cattle,  
Stone-walled paddock where stood three silly sheep  
Who ran away wary as they would from wolves,  
A garden where once grew greens for the eating  
And herbs for hearty taste and the health of the eater,  
                        And there  
        A scent came to his nose  
        Upon the winter air  
        Of wood smoke that rose  
        From a warm kitchen fire.

He could barely tell in the tangle of trailing vines   
Where the house wall ended and woods began,   
By which he wondered how wild were the holders  
In this country so far from the courts of courtesy,  
But then the door opened and three damsels came out  
Who greeted Gawain with goodly words:  
"You are well come, good sir, to our humble cott --  
Come, take your ease from your terrible journey."  
Though their cott was rude their raiment was rich,  
Their apparel appointed as well as can be  
In no lesser fashion than Guinevere's ladies.  
The eldest made herself known as Melusinda --  
Her hair was as ruddy as any roan mare   
And eyes that assessed him as hunter does horse  
While she held his bridle and kept Gringolet still.  
The second was fair and full with bashful face,  
Her eyes cast down as modest as a maid  
For all that her bosom swelled in her bodice --  
Bright Isabeau was quite as beautiful as   
Any damsel with whom he'd whilom done dalliance.  
The youngest, however, stood out from her sisters,  
Tall and toothsome with straight black tresses:  
She looked in his eye as bold as unbroken filly  
And said, "Sir, you're the first man we've seen in some time.  
I'm Jehanne -- but here, dismount your high horse,  
Come in from the weather where we can warm you."  
                        And he  
        Was so pleased by the sight   
        Of the beautiful three  
        That he felt much delight  
        And so quickly agreed.

Together they helped him down from his horse,  
Which was led by the oldest to the long stable  
With mangers of meadow hay and warm mash.  
Jehanne offered him rest before a hot meal,  
Which Isabeau took leave to see came about.  
He was shown to a chamber as capacious as any in Camelot  
While the broad bed's array was no less rich;  
Here Jehanne drew a hot bath for him,  
Helped him disrobe and rinse the road's grime.  
She gazed frankly on his form, in no wise bashful,  
And never one to disappoint a lady in dalliance  
Gawain gave her gallantries galore,  
Which she, for one, warmly responded to,  
And in every game gave as good as she got:  
Each of his compliments she coupled with another,   
Each kiss he asked for she countered in turn,  
When he nibbled her fingers she nipped his neck,  
When he played "find the finger" she hid it fully --  
But it'd be tedious to tell all pleasures they took  
In the ways of love between lady and lord --  
                        Suffice  
        It for my tale to say,  
        They weren't done in a trice,  
        For she in their sweet play  
        Toyed in each game thrice.

At a mid-day meal they all made merry  
For they craved from Gawain word of the court,   
The doings of lords and the dresses of ladies,   
And he gallantly gave what their greed desired.  
As for the food, it was of course of the finest.  
When their repast was done, he retired to rest,   
Brought to his chamber by fair Isabeau --  
Whom he contrived to keep beside him  
By a question and another, each quickly following,  
For it seemed to him that for all she seemed shy  
Her cravings had the same cut as her sister's cloth.  
With every answer, she stayed even longer;  
He drew her out with delicate words,  
Petting or praising as it came to pass,  
And harnessing the wiles as for hooding a falcon   
He brought her to hand till he held her jesses.  
He found as they flirted she knew the rules of the game,  
Both jousting with lance and losing one's shield, and after   
                        They sparred,  
        And signs he found no lack  
        He'd not been on guard:  
        Red scratches on his back  
        And shoulder bitten hard.

That night, the sisters' supper was superb,  
With every delicacy cooks can devise  
And three fair damsels in the finest of gowns,  
So that knight swore Camelot couldn't do better.  
Long was their laughter as they lay at board,  
In merry singing and stories of all sorts,  
But like all good things, evening eventually ended --  
Melusinda brought him to his chamber,  
But stayed his play with hand on his heart:  
"Good sir, I'm picky in pleasures, and play  
Only certain sports," she said with a smile.  
Gawain protested -- he'd never displease a lady:  
"I am yours to command." "Come come, sir knight --  
Do your words justice, for there are joys known just  
By those who accept ... everything ... given them   
Without any protest, just pleadings for mercy --  
Ones resisters can't revel in, to their regret."  
"A second time I say, I'll do all that you ask."  
"Can I trust such a strong knight to submit?"  
"Domina, by faith, I'll obey you this day --  
Devise any test you demand and I'll do it."  
She smiled and said, "Then such is your test,"  
Then came and kissed him, lightly at first,   
But then bit his lip so hard blood broke free --  
Yet so he held still, though it took his true strength,  
Even as she bade him kneel on the bed and sat   
                        Astride.  
        She smiled to see him bleed  
        Then set spurs to side  
        As huntress does to steed,  
        Through the whole night ride.

As dawn broke over the brakes and briars of the valley,  
Before the first sparrows started to sing  
And Renyard returned to his run with a rabbit,  
Gawain slipped to a slumber, and thence to sleep,  
Where he looked as in a vision upon Our Lady  
Who watches our dreams as well as our waking:  
"Get up, my knight, and know you have strayed,  
Wandering unwary from virtue's way --  
So have you shamed your self and your soul.  
Awake and find the form of your foul trap!"  
Eyes open, he saw he shared his bed with a serpent:   
Her scales were a green that gleamed as they glittered,  
With coils that had nearly encased his carcase  
As tightly as tercel mantles its take;  
While above this body were woman's breasts   
Atop whose shoulders his domina's face slept,  
But surrounded by locks not roan but ash-pale.   
With his one free hand, Gawain found his sword  
And laid blade of his brand across her white neck.   
The monster awoke and worked her wiles:  
"Here, stay your sword -- and stay with us here."  
Gawain declined as gallantly as he could:  
"'Tis now the next day, so I must decline."  
Now she pleaded with new words: "We need you --  
Without mortal blood we cannot give birth,   
But will waste away without any children,   
Our long line ended, lineage cut off."   
Gawain was moved by mercy but spoke not mild:   
"Release your coils -- in return you shall live."  
She then refused and they furiously fought,   
Snake against sword and sin against strength,  
But with vigor and by virtue of the Virgin  
At length man was the master and she submitted  
                        Instead  
        To this strong knight she feared,  
        And did what he said  
        While weeping serpent's tears --  
        Thus he escaped her bed.

He dressed himself, sword still set upon her.  
Leaving their chamber, the cott was now as rough  
As it had appeared when he had first approached:  
Its walls were woven of wands and roots  
And high hall enclosed by hawthorn and oak.  
There too the two sisters were also transformed --  
A pard that padded with Jehanne's pale face  
While above in the branches, bashful Isabeau  
As a hateful harpy roosted on high.  
Ignoring their needless words like senseless noise,  
He saddled Gringolet with all his gear,  
Mounted above and set spur to side.  
As he galloped away, they groaned from the gate:  
"Leave here and we'll die!" but he heard them not.   
The road to their ruin he'd ridden so easily   
Had nearly grown over, but through the hard ground  
He struggled in pain to the path up the peaks.  
"Never again," vowed Sir Gawain, "till my goal is won,   
Will I delay with woman, nor digress from my quest --  
But live with virtue till the very end:  
                        By She  
        In life who was most pure,  
        Whose grace again saved me --  
        For Her I dally no more."  
        And so he rode free.

On the mountain that morning merrily he rides,  
And into an old deep forest, weird and wild,  
High hills on either hand, and below them a holt  
Of huge and hoary oaks, a hundred altogether;  
Hazel and hawthorn were twisted there all into one,  
And rough, ragged moss grew rampant all about,  
And many small sorrowing birds upon bare twigs ------

**Author's Note:**

> Translation of _Sir Gawain and the Green Knight_ II.10-11 by John Gardner, copyright 1965.


End file.
